


Hands Up, Claws Out

by DangerousCommieSubversive



Category: Dark Avengers (Comic)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Kink Meme, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/DangerousCommieSubversive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on the X-Men Kink Meme--someone wanted Daken giving Lester a hand job with his claws out, and this was the result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands Up, Claws Out

It starts the way most things start for them: they're trying to kill each other.

At this point the other members of the team don't even _try_ to get in the way. They just vacate whatever room the fight's started in, shut the doors behind them, and plug their ears while Ms. Hand calls the clean-up crew and the medics.

This time even _they_ can't remember what started the fight. It was _probably_ something Lester said about Daken's mother, that's frequently what gets them going. _Or_ Daken said something flirtatious, Lester responded with a bullet through the foot, and Daken pounced, which is what happens the _other_ fifty percent of the time.

In any case, the conference room has been vacated and they're rolling on the floor, Lester holding an arrow like a dagger, Daken with his claws out and snarling almost amiably. The old familiar routine.

 _This_ time, though...

Daken chuckles breathlessly as they roll under the table and he feels something hard pressing against his thigh that is very much _not_ a gun. “Why, Lester.” He licks his lips. “Is that more ammunition in your pocket, or are you just _very_ excited to be this close to me?”

Lester snarls, but his eyes zero in on the tip of Daken's tongue even as he's snarling, “I'll put a bullet _right_ through your brain stem, princess.”

“You'd like to put _something_ through me, I'm sure.”

“Shut _up._ ” The assassin grabs his throat, slams the back of his head against the floor.

Daken blows him a kiss. “Hold on tighter, I'm not seeing spots yet.”

Lester jolts away, more because of the blown kiss than anything. “You _freak._ _Figures_ you'd get off on this.”

“I don't think _either_ of us got off yet, unless you're quicker off the blocks than I'd thought.” Smirking, Daken slides a hand down in between them.

Another sudden shift away, and _this_ time Lester's off-balance enough for Daken to flip them, so that now _he's_ the one on top, the crown of his head just brushing the underside of the table.

Lester grunts, claws at him, stabs the arrow into his thigh. “Get off.”

“Would you _like_ me to?” Daken leans in close with a puff of pheromones, his claws sliding back into his hands. “I thought I'd be a gentleman. Let you go first.”

Lester bites him.

This time it's _Daken_ jerking back, growling low in his throat even as the bite reseals. There's still blood on his skin, though, and his costume is torn, and Lester lets out an ugly chuckle. “You're not in control as much as you think you are, eh, princess?” He reaches up, grabs Daken by the hair. “Think you're so _smart._ ”

Daken says, a bit breathlessly, “Pull harder,” his eyes drifting shut as if in ecstacy.

“Gonna—what?” The words fade out in Lester's throat.

Daken flutters his eyelashes girlishly and whispers, “I like it when you're rough with me.”

 _“Hnng.”_ Lester twitches involuntarily, and then stifles another groan—somehow during the struggle Daken got a knee between his legs. “You—you talk like a whore.”

“You like it.” And the fucking _smirk_ again. “I don't think _you've_ got nearly as much control as you'd like. I think I could make you do _anything_ I wanted.”

Lester groans, and this time when Daken reaches down he doesn't move away—at least, not until he hears the soft _snikt_ of extending claws. “What're you—”

Daken lifts the loincloth away almost _delicately_ with one claw, tugs the stupid purple leggings down, and laughs softly when Lester's cock springs free. “You may _say_ you hate me, but _this_ couldn't lie to me if it _tried._ ”

He raises his hand to his mouth, claws still out, and _licks_ it. Lester's breathing goes shallow as he watches Daken trace the tips of his own fingers with his tongue.

Daken's watching him, out of the corners of his eyes. His lips twitch, as if he wants to smile again, and then he sucks the tip of a _claw_ into his mouth.

Lester stares at him, muscles going tight, and then his head hits the back of the floor with a thud, his chin tipping back involuntarily, his throat exposed. “You _little—_ h-hey, aren't you gonna put those away before you _hnng,_ ” and he bucks up as Daken wraps that clawed hand around his erection.

“You don't _mind_ them, do you?” Daken strokes, slowly, and his claws brush the top of Lester's thigh. “They get _so_ hard to control.” And there's a _snikt_ as the claws come out on his other hand, and _that_ one he puts on Lester's shoulder, leaning his weight on it as he _tugs._

Lester shudders. Glances at the claws lying alongside his head, and he's arching up into Daken's touch. “You fuckin' freak.” But it sounds weak even to his own ears.

“You _like_ them, don't you? You like weapons.” Daken cocks his head to one side, watches him for a moment, and then moves to caress Lester's cheek with the tip of one claw. His other hand is still going, tight and hot and wet on Lester's cock.

The sharp spur of bone is unexpectedly cool on his skin, almost metallic, and for a moment _that's_ what freaks him out, because he _knows_ what human bones are supposed to be like.These don't _feel_ like that. But then there's a claw tip at his _lips_ , and when he gasps at a particularly pleasurable _squeeze_ the claw slides _in_ and he sucks on it, desperately, as above him Daken shoots him a vicious grin

Something trickles down his thigh. He looks, startled, and—the fucker's drawn _blood_ , and that...

That makes this whole fucked-up mess _hotter._

He rolls his hips up, thrusting into Daken's hand, staring wide-eyed at the claws so _perilously_ close to his dick. He's grunting, too, he's sweating, the blood trickles down the side of his leg from the cut and mixes with the sweat. Daken's grip is hot, _actual_ heat, and it feels good like nothing's ever felt good before, it's something about the way the mutant asshole _smells_ or something. It's fucking _intoxicating._

He thrusts, and he sucks on the claw in his mouth, and then Daken says, very softly, _“Come.”_

As if the command _means_ something, Lester _jerks,_ coming hard, staining his own costume _and_ Daken's.

The claw withdraws from his mouth, and now, _now_ Daken pulls it down his chest, the cloth parting under it to leave his chest bare. Smirking, he wipes his hand off on Lester's stomach and rolls off him, out from under the table. He preens like the cat that ate the canary as he straightens his collar. “Well, I got what _I_ wanted.”

His claws slide back into his hands. Lester stares.

“Did _you?_ ”


End file.
